


Fragmented Reality- Casebook

by PagesInAChapter



Category: Supernatural
Genre: A lot of dialogue because I'm learning, Dean-Centric, Fluff, I don't know how to characterise properly hahaha, Someone's probably already had this idea but I'm still emotional, This is my first real fanfic so it's gonna be hard, This is not favouritism this is story telling, casebook, post s13, s13 spoilers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-04
Updated: 2018-07-29
Packaged: 2019-05-18 00:20:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 13,459
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14841995
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PagesInAChapter/pseuds/PagesInAChapter
Summary: The world is peaceful, for once. Everything's fine.Michael and Lucifer are locked away in a parallel dimension, presumably killing each other. Sam, Dean, Cas, and Jack are back in the bunker with the refugees and Mary. Everyone's safe, everyone's alive, albeit tired. But the work never ends– after a few days of rest and calm, it's time to get back out there and fix the world.But Dean is exhausted. Something is seriously wrong with him, and its beginning to take its toll.





	1. Know How to Swim

"Coffee. Coffee is my best friend. Sorry Cas, you've been replaced." Dean took a sip from his mug and put down a card on the pile. 

"That's unfortunate." Cas hesitated a moment before putting down his own card. "Uno."

Ah. Okay, this game could be turned around. Dean gently put his coffee back on the table and examined his cards: A yellow six, a blue four, and a wildcard. He put the wildcard down. "Red."

"I win." Cas put his card down and stood up, stretching his arms above his head dramatically. "Dean, you should get some sleep. You've been awake for two days."

"I've had worse." Dean stood up and started sorting the Uno cards, organising them by numbers and colours before shuffling them again into a random pattern in anticipation of another game. He could see Cas out of the corner of his eye, standing on the other end of the table in silence. Eye contact would be a mistake. If he looked up, Dean wouldn't be able to look away. So he kept his head down, shuffling the cards, until Jack padded into the room.

One glance at the Nephilim put a smile on Dean's face. Jack had clearly just woken up, hair a mess, wearing Cas's coat in place of a dressing gown. "Morning, Jack."

No response. Jack shuffled through the kitchen door without even acknowledging the presence of two of his guardians. 

Dean shrugged and looked up at Cas. "Teenagers, am I right?"

Mistake. Dean's attention snagged on Cas's eyes, trapped, caught in the endless blue of them. Mesmerising. Cas tipped his head to one side gently and took a step back.

The door burst open as Sam kicked it, shocking Dean and Cas apart. The younger Winchester's arms were full of grey shopping bags overflowing with groceries, and there was a newspaper in his mouth which he promptly spit out so it fluttered down the stairs. "Hey! Guess what?"

"You are in way too good of a mood." Cas said bluntly. Dean, however, rushed over to grab the newspaper and flick through it. He hadn't been outside in a while, not since returning from the apocalypse world. In fact, the last few days had sort of been a weird blur for him. Like he hadn't quite been there.

Something tugged at the back of his mind but Dean brushed it off, instead walking slowly back to the dining table and leaving Sam and Cas to deal with the groceries. The front page had caught his attention; or more specifically, the picture of a teenager in a black suit, raising his chin towards the camera in almost fiery defiance. "Dylan... Pangborn." Dean mused, perching on the edge of the table. "Why'd you bookmark the page?"

"Turn it over– Cas, can you grab the milk?– Turn it over, keep reading." Sam disappeared into the kitchen with Cas close behind, and shut the door behind them. Dean watched after them for a moment, before shrugging and adjusting himself into a more comfortable position to read.

It was somehow nice to know that, even when the world was on the brink of ending, life still went on. Except, apparently, for Dylan Pangborn. "Poor kid." Dean leafed through the paper until he hit on the page that detailed Pangborn's story. Another picture jumped off the page, this one of two black haired children. 'Dylan, aged 4, and brother Jacob, aged 7', the caption declared. Dean hummed softly under his breath and kicked his feet up on the table, eyes darting across the page.

"Found in.... a lake. The same lake as... Hey, Sammy? What'd you make of this?" It was too big of a coincidence, both brothers dying in the same place two years apart. With the paper tucked under his arm Dean sauntered into the kitchen, snatching up his coffee mug to wash it up– or, more realistically, leave it on the counter for later. 

Jack was busy cooking something. Pancakes, maybe. It was hard to tell with all the smoke. Quickly, Dean reached over to adjust the heating of the stove and wave the smoke away with the newspaper. "You even awake?"

"Huh?" Jack looked up blearily. "Yeah. yeah. Sam and Castiel are over there." He gestured to where the two were sitting at the table, hunched over the laptop. They seemed engrossed in the screen, so Dean had no other choice but to drop the paper on the keyboard.

Sam started and looked up before glancing down at the paper again. "Yeah, see? Case."

"That ain't normal." Dean leaned against the table and crossed his arms, watching Cas tug at the newspaper to try and read it. 

Jack appeared just beside Dean with a flap of his wings. He took a bite of his sugar-drenched pancake and chewed thoughtfully. "They drowned. Why's that weird?"

"Same place, same day, two years apart." Sam stood up, pushing his chair back noisily. "I say we head out now, while the trail's still fresh."

Dean pulled a face and scratched his temple lazily. It was early, in his opinion. Too damn early for this. Everyone else in the bunker was still asleep, probably the first good night they'd had since arriving. "I dunno, Sammy. You don't think we should wait a little?"

Three pairs of eyes shot to Dean in confusion. "Dean, I think– I think you should stay here." Cas said reluctantly.

"Yeah, you've been pretty out of it since we got back." Sam added, before Dean could say anything.

Dean blinked and straightened up, jamming his hands into his pockets. "Really? I'm out of it? I feel fine. Raring to go."

"Dean..." Jack, this time. He didn't follow up with anything, just tossed Cas his coat and loped off to get dressed.

Sam and Cas didn't say anything more on the subject, but once they'd left the kitchen, Sam tossed the car keys to Dean with an apologetic smile. Dean smiled back reluctantly and waved for the other three to go on without him. He'd catch up.

They were right to be concerned. The last... days. They were gone. Sure, Dean had lost days before, out of a drunken haze or exhaustion or just because he hadn't noticed them slip past, but this... This was different. Dean couldn't put his finger on it, and eventually he just gave up. He'd deal with this another time– The others were waiting on him.

They had a case to solve.


	2. Chapter 2

What leads were there? None, really.

"Parents? Do we have an address?" Sam prompted. In the backseat of the car, Jack took out the laptop and started typing.

"We do now." He confirmed. "Take a left here."

Dean obliged and spun the wheel, glancing back over his shoulder. "That was some fast research. Nice job."

Jack just shrugged modestly and closed the lap, making a gesture that probably meant 'watch the road.' Smart kid. Dean twisted back around and kept driving, lulling into the silence. It was a good day. The sun was out, not too hot. A cool breeze was blowing in through the window, ruffling Dean's hair. He smiled quietly to himself and took a deep breath. The world was nice, when it wasn't dying.

"Dean!" Sam's voice was piercing, a terrified cry of warning before the sun washed the windshield in white and the car came to an abrupt, sickening halt that sent Dean flying back against the seat. He winced, flinching back against the smell of fire.

"Dean! Dean!" Cas. Coming from... in front of him? Dean opened his eyes slowly, squinting against the heat. He was standing up. When did he get out of the car? What was he wearing? Rain was drumming on the roof, almost drowning out Cas's voice. Rain and violent wind. When had that started up?

"Sam? Cas? What's happening?" The fire. It was a... a ring. A ring of fire around him. Sigils painted against the walls. Warding? The walls. Not the car. Warehouse? Dean shook his head rapidly to clear it. A nightmare. Just another nightmare. During the day.

"Dean, Dean, no! Fight him! Fight him!" Sam made as if to rush forward but Cas grabbed his arm. The agony in the angel's eyes was too much. It was all too much. Dean took a step forward, almost into the flames, but Cas and Sam were backing away.

Cas shook Sam's arm. "We have to run." He had to shout over the storm, but it was easy to hear his voice breaking.

The world was going dark. Why? The storm was becoming muffled, only white noise.

"Cas, we can't leave him like this!" Even so, both Cas and Sam had run from the warehouse before Dean's vision cut out.

Dean slammed the car into park. His heart pounded against his ribs as though struggling to break free. Blood roared in his ears. It took a moment before he realised his family were speaking. Were they okay? He twisted around to do a headcount.

"Dean, maybe I should drive." Sam ventured. "You didn't see that deer until–"

"Yeah, okay. Okay, you drive. Fine." No time to argue this. The taste of sandpaper and smoke clung to his mouth, making it hard to talk. "Where's Jack?"

"Healing it." Cas answered shortly. A second later, the deer scrambled up in front of them and sprang into the trees with a disgruntled skitter. Jack popped up off the road with a grin, watching the bushes where the deer had disappeared. His eyes were sparkling, just a little bit. Dean rolled his eyes and stepped out of the car.

The sun beat down immediately, a warm touch that made him shiver. The wind and rain had felt so real. It was different, when the dreams came at night. They were easier to dismiss. This, this daytime hallucination... It felt wrong, on every level. It had never happened before. Dean exhaled loudly and leaned against the car, scrubbing his face with the heels of his palms to try and wake himself up.

"Hey." Sam drifted up next to him and perched on the bonnet of the car. His eyes skimmed over Dean, not without concern. "You alright? We can go home if you're not doing okay. It's been a pretty big week."

"I'm fine. You're the one who died over there, not me." Dean retorted snappishly. Evidently, this was the wrong thing to say. Sam flinched back, his hand flying to his throat as if to cover it from attack again. Dean winced. Yeah, being reminded of recent, bloody death wasn't exactly fun for anyone.

"Sorry, sorry. Didn't mean..." Dean ran his fingers through his hair roughly. "I'm just... really out of it today. I gotta get some air."

He tossed the keys to Sam and took off at a stumbling run, hopping over the safety fence and skidding into the forest. The atmosphere near the car was too thick, too heavy to breathe in.He had to get away, just for a bit. Just for a moment. Just a second to recollect his thoughts.

Dean was trembling. Cold? Fear? He paused to rest against a tree, bracing his hands on his knees to try and breathe properly. 

"Dean."

Cas. Typical. Right at Dean's side, seemingly having appeared from nowhere. Dean stood up shakily to brush himself off and roll his shoulders back, trying for all the world to pull himself together. He couldn't afford to be seen like this. Not in front of Cas.

"I'm fine. I'm okay. Just tired." He waved off Cas's offer of a shoulder to lean on and started back towards the car, jogging a little to outpace Cas. He knew, he just knew that if he looked at is best friend, he would break. Everything would come out; all the nightmares and blurred thoughts and voice in his head... No. They had to stay hidden. For now, at least.

Jack and Sam were sitting on the bonnet of the car and chatting, but both looked up when Dean and Cas stepped back onto the road. Sam raised a hand in cautious greeting.

"Mind if Jack takes shotgun? I want to give him a driving lesson, and you should sleep."

This didn't seem like too bad of an idea. Dean sighed and patted the car's side before clambering reluctantly into the backseat. They'd hopefully be at the Pangborn's address soon anyway. The less time spent in the back the better– especially with the concerned glance Sam and Cas exchanged when they thought Dean wasn't looking. But what was the point in arguing with them? Let them worry. Dean closed his eyes and tipped his head back with a sigh. For all he knew, the worry was necessary.


	3. Chapter 3

Dean woke up when Sam parked the car a little too roughly. It was not a nice way to wake up. He blinked softly and frowned, reaching a hand up to rub at the seatbelt cutting into his neck. No, pretty bad way to wake up.

What made it better was Cas sitting very still, staring out the window without objection to Dean's head on his shoulder.

Dean sat up quickly, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand patting Cas's arm lightly in gratitude and climbing out of the car to join Sam and Jack. His suit was a little creased, but it was unlikely that the family would notice. He cleared his throat and adjusted his jacket, glancing towards Sam. A dreamless sleep was appreciated, sure. In fact, if he had the choice, Dean would've just crawled back in the car to have another go at it. But now, he was confused, disoriented, and frankly, a little lost.

"I assume you guys came up with a game plan while I was out?" He checked, trying to regain his composure.

"Uh, yeah. Yeah." Sam tossed a fake ID to Dean and another to Cas, who had just come up at Dean's side. "So we're looking for a Marianne Pangborn, which should be easy because she.... she lives alone now. Anyway. Shall we?" He gestured to the house, indicating that they should go up.

Marianne answered the door so fast it was as if she'd been crouched on the other side of it. Her hair rested in black tangles on her shoulders. There were coffee stains on her dressing gown. Dean felt more than saw Jack flinch. Seeing people in such raw grief only got easier with time. Dean held up his ID quickly.

"Good morning ma'am, I'm Agent Russell, these are my colleagues Agents Elliot, Kilmer, and Paxton." He gestured to Sam, Cas, and Jack in turn. "We have some questions about your sons. May we come in?"

For a moment Marianne just looked kind of stunned. Then she took a careful, shuffling step to one side and held the door open a little wider. "Y-Yeah, sure, come in."

They walked in carefully, single file as though expecting an attack. Indeed, the house carried a sort of solemn, heavy atmosphere; one that came with recent death. It was something all four of them were familiar with, something one could never forget. Dean rolled his shoulders back and followed Marianne to the dining room, where she indicated that they should sit.

"Do you want coffee? Tea? Water?" She chattered. Her hands were shaking. Only Cas opted for water, clearly to make her feel better.

"We're never going to get anything out of her." Dean muttered, drumming his fingers on the table. Before anyone else had a chance to reply Marianne came darting back in with a glass, which she placed in front of Cas before sitting down carefully in the empty seat at the head of the table. Dean stiffened a little, on edge.

"What- What can I do for you?" Marianne asked. Her eyes darted from one hunter to another, over and over as though assessing them.

"We just have some questions about Dylan and Jacob, that's all. What happened to them." Sam took a sip from Cas's glass absently. Beside him, Jack pushed his chair back, announced he was going to the bathroom, and left the room.

Marianne was fidgeting. "I'm... sorry, I don't understand. My boys..."

"We are truly sorry for your loss, Mrs Pangborn, but it's imperative that we know exactly what happened." Cas interjected softly. 

"I don't know... I don't know what happened, I..." This time it was Marianne who borrowed the water, her fingernails clacking against the glass. "I wasn't there. Dylan was never the... never the same after Jacob...."

She put the glass down, water sloshing over the rim. Dean and Sam exchanged a glance. Living alone, it was no wonder she was acting this way. She probably just had to be prompted a little more, then she'd start talking easily. They'd seen others like her before.

"What do you mean, 'never the same'? Was he depressed?" Dean was still drumming his fingers on the table, and he stilled them quickly.

Marianne nodded, tilting her head back as if to try and halt the tears brimming on her eyelids. "I didn't do anything about it, I hoped... I don't know what I hoped. I was busy with myself, I... My oldest son! You can't blame me! I didn't even know he was suffering!" 

With that she dissolved, and despite her visible attempts to pull herself together, finally retreated back to the kitchen. Nothing else could be gained from being here, nothing except awkwardness and possibly getting too involved in the emotional part of the case. So Dean called Jack back over and the group departed quickly, hurrying back out to the car.

"So don't be mad," Jack began as soon as they were back on the highway, "But I took Dylan's phone."

"You what?" Dean pulled over quickly, unable to focus on the road with all the noise that had suddenly erupted in the car. 

"It was in a box marked 'trash' and I thought it would be helpful." The yelling and questions died down as Jack fished a battered, waterlogged phone from his jacket pocket and held it out."I figured we could recover the data. Maybe there was something on it."

For a moment the group stayed silent, processing this. Then Sam nodded slowly.

"If we can get the information off it.... You might be right. Back to the bunker?" He glanced at Dean, who nodded absently and spun the car around. Back to the bunker to do research, like always. Things were starting to calm down. All he needed now was for the nightmares to go away, and everything would be fine. Maybe.

Sam's hand brushed against Dean's shoulder, such a light touch that it may have been accidental rather than a subtle attempt at reassurance. Dean's hands tightened on the steering wheel. If it was this easy for his brother to notice his distress, it was probably going to affect his hunting. He gritted his teeth and rolled his shoulders back as invisibly as he could.

Get it under control. Get all of it under control, and solve the case. Just like old times.


	4. Chapter 4

Charlie looked down at the phone in her hand, then back up at Sam dubiously. "You want me to... what?"

"Get the information off it." Sam elbowed Dean hard in the ribs. It had been Dean's idea, but Sam had the unfortunate luck of being elected to actually ask Charlie to look at it. Cas and Jack, both still wary of the rebels, were hanging back. Dean glanced back at them longingly. He'd be back there with them, if he was allowed to, but Sam had refused to go alone.

With a tiny sigh, Charlie ran her fingers through her tangled hair. "Your Charlie was a tech whiz, huh?"

"Yeah, she was, uh..." Sam shot a despairing look to Dean, who responded with a shrug. "We were hoping you might be able to figure it out."

This was met with a raised eyebrow and a sunny smile that made Dean's heart ache. "'Course I can. Probably. Nothing a bowl of rice can't fix, right?" She devolved into quiet murmurings and turned her back, turning the phone over in her hands as she wandered towards the kitchen.

"Great, it's in good hands." Sam, unamused by Dean's remark, elbowed him again.

The four of them headed to the library out of habit, exchanging small talk with the other rebels as they went. There was research that could still be done before they planned their next move.

There were people in the library, flicking through books to learn about the world or just to pass time and try and relax. Dean exchanged a look with Cas. It would be difficult to research in here without getting a group of unnecessary helpers looking for things to do.

"We can hang out in my room." Sam suggested, sounding so much like a teenager that Dean winced. He could get where his brother was coming from, though. All the chatter and people, after years of just the four- five, including Mary- of them, was a little bit overwhelming. It made sense that thoughts moved a little sluggishly.

Once in Sam's room, they shut the door and set themselves up with laptops, phones, and piles of old newspapers that Jack borrowed from the nearest store in the blink of an eye.

Sam pointed at Jack, encouraging an answer, using this time as a training session. "What're we looking for?"

"Information about Dylan and Jacob."

"Anything else?"

At Jack's silence, Cas answered. "History of the location."

Dean was already rereading the article about Dylan's death, scouring it for more information and details, searching even though there was clearly nothing there. He sighed and started going through his phone, searching up Jacob Pangborn. May as well figure out what his story was.

"A lot of people died here over the recent years." Cas said quietly. "Dylan Pangborn, 2018, Jacob Pangborn, 2016, Howard Quinn, David Spitz, and Lin Harbour, 2015..."

Jack rested his chin on Dean's shoulder briefly, reading the information on the phone. "He seemed happy."

"He seemed–" Sam sat up sharply, grabbing Jack's arm at the same time as Dean pushed the young nephilim away. "'I didn't know he was suffering', that's what Marianne said."

"What, suicide? The kid killed himself?" Dean looked up sharply, then back down at his phone with a frown.

"That's... unfortunate." Cas mused.

Sam passed his laptop to Jack and started pacing silently, seemingly endless until Dean reached out to smack him gently on the arm. "What's your thoughts, Sammy?"

"Maybe we're dealing with Jacob's ghost? Maybe he killed Dylan?"

"If that's the case, then why the other boys? They died a year before Jacob did." Cas pointed out reasonably.

Jack pulled a face. "Can't be a vengeful spirit if you're still alive."

Abruptly, Dean sat up and shut his phone off. "Found a location. We going out?"

In the end, only Dean, Cas, and Jack went. Sam opted to stay behind, research more on each death and see if he could help Charlie with the damaged phone at all. So after donning beanies and jackets and scarves to combat the bitter cold outside, the three of them set off.

The sunset bathed the bridge in a soft orange glow and glinted off the river, making it sparkle in the darkening world. It was empty, quiet. This was not a park that received many visitors, and it showed in the purely of the grass and unblemished trees.

The area was nice enough that Dean wasn't worried when Jack started lagging behind, putting his palm against the bark of trees and stooping to pick blades of grass or clover flowers. In fact, this was a good thing. It gave Dean a chance to talk privately with Cas– What he specifically wanted to talk about, he couldn't remember. Dean gritted his teeth to swallow his frustration.

Walking in silence was good too.

"Something on your mind, Dean?" Halfway over the bridge Cas paused to lean against the railing, and beckoned Dean over to join him. 

Dean exhaled lowly and looked out across the calm water. "Nah. Nightmare, that's all. Can't even remember it, really. Remember when I... dozed off while driving? Hit the deer?"

Nightmares. That was a topic they could all understand, all accept without question. Dean wished he could remember his. It had been... worse than most, he knew that much. Cas had been right this morning, when he'd prompted Dean to get some sleep. Now, the angel pulled a sympathetic face. "It's okay now."

Not 'It isn't real'. Cas knew too much about Dean's nightmares to say they weren't real. Just that they weren't happening now, at this second. Dean smiled and glanced up, allowing himself– for just a moment– to get lost in Cas's eyes. His fingers itched slightly, and he carefully put his hand on Cas's shoulder. It didn't calm the burning under his skin, but it was close enough for now. Cas responded by mimicking, calming the flames with his touch.

They could've stayed like that forever, if Jack hadn't cried out in alarm.

Dean and Cas turned quickly to see Jack disappear over the railing in a clumsy, yet very deliberate jump. In one fluid movement they lunged to the spot where he'd been, just in time to see him hit the water like a sack of potatoes. The pair leaned over, frantically scanning the rippling surface.

"Jack!" Cas called out. His voice echoed through the park, but brought no response other than the calling of a flock of birds as they settled down for the night.

Cas may have been fast but Dean was faster. With a string of curses he tore off his scarf and jacket and hat, cast them aside, and dove over the side.


	5. Chapter 5

The cold of the water shocked Dean to the core, froze his blood in his veins and threatened to drag him down. He fought it furiously, shaking his head from side to side to dislodge the yelling in his mind.

"We had a deal! We had a deal!" His own voice. Muffled, echoing. Forgotten almost as soon as it trailed off. 

Dean's lungs were already burning, screaming for air, and though his inner self– or maybe Cas, telepathically (always hard to tell)– howled against the plan, he kicked to the surface.

The first breath of air brought with it a flood of water that made Dean choke and cough. He didn't allow himself the luxury of taking a moment, instead diving back down before his coughing had properly finished. Did Jack need to breathe? Dean couldn't remember. It wasn't worth the risk.

It was so dark underwater, a horrible, crushing blackness. Dean propelled himself deeper, casting out his arms wildly in the hope of at least brushing against Jack. Where was he? Dean struggled not to inhale as he forced his eyes open wider, struggling to see through the depths–

There.

Just a shape, a silhouette sinking slowly, being tugged lightly by the current. But he was there.

Dean forced himself up to take another frantic gulp of air. Where was Cas? Where'd he go?

No time. He ducked back down and this time kept going, kicking frantically until his fingers brushed against Jack's shirt. Blindly, Dean managed to get a grip on the fabric and pull Jack towards him, shifting to get a hand over his face and prevent him from taking in more water. Then, he succumbed to the river. It was easier to stop struggling. Easier to just hold onto Jack and let the water carry him up, towards the surface. His ears burst with the pressure. His lungs were aching.

When they broke into the world again, it was to a sky full of glittering stars and a cold so intense Dean's world spun and his teeth clattered together so hard he thought they might break. Using his free arm to clasp Jack close to him, out of the water, Dean started lopsidedly paddling towards shore.

Cas was there, standing in the water so it swirled around his knees, and he reached out to take Jack once Dean had swum close enough. With the dead weight gone, Dean rolled himself upon his elbows and dragged himself up on shore, coughing and spitting water to one side. For a moment, a solid, bleak moment, the world went dark.

Then Cas's hand pressed down on his back, right between his shoulder blades, and abruptly the pain eased. Dragging a hand across his mouth in an effort to get the water away from his airways, Dean sat up and looked wearily over at Jack.

He was flat on his back, hair dark and drying into spikes like a halo. Before Dean could summon the energy to panic Cas placed a hand on his shoulder.

"He's alright. I had to make him sleep, he... was hysterical." Cas seemed to stumble over the word and suddenly his hand was gripping Dean's tightly, pulling him to his feet. "You're shivering.

"I'm pretty sure I saw the Titanic in there, Cas." The metaphor was a little bit of a reach, even for Dean, but he was too cold to care.

Exhaustion hit him like a ton of bricks and he fell against Cas, who held him close and frowned in Jack's direction. "I can't carry both of you. Can you walk?"

The very idea almost sent Dean into a coma. But he'd been through worse, he could handle this. And besides, he had to drive home. Reluctantly, he pushed himself off Cas and took a staggering step back and a shaky breath in. He could handle this. Cas's hand wrapped around his again and suddenly, Dean was wearing Cas's black suit jacket. It was warm and heavy, blocking the air from freezing the water on his arms.

The car greeted Dean with a blast of hot air as he turned the key in the ignition. A shiver ran down his spine as he leaned into the heat, closing his eyes slowly. He could go to sleep right now. The adrenaline was already wearing off, leaving him more exhausted than ever.

Cas grunted slightly, arranging Jack as carefully as possible, lying down in the back seat and wrapped in Cas's trench coat. Asleep under Cas's command, Jack looked almost peaceful, calmer than he'd been in a while. Dean smiled, just a little, and shook his head to shock himself awake. This was not a time for sleep. This was a time for driving. They had to tell Sam what they'd found– 

What had they found?

Nothing really. Maybe they'd discovered that Jack was suicidal or shockingly clumsy or couldn't swim. Nothing that would come as a surprise. A sound somewhere between a groan and a sigh escaped through Dean's teeth and he rested his forehead against the steering wheel, listening quietly as Cas clambered into the passenger seat.

"Did you see anything in the river, Dean?" Cas asked quietly. Dean just shook his head and revved the engine, glancing back at Jack to check that he was still asleep. If he woke up in hysterics, as Cas had said... Well, the car probably wouldn't be able to handle a freaked out Nephilim. Likely, the road wouldn't be able to either.

With a shudder to shed the last shreds of cold, Dean flicked the headlights on and very, very carefully eased the car onto the main road. His teeth were chattering still. His vision blurred slightly as trees passed by on either side. At this rate, it would be a long, slow drive home. But at least they'd get there.


	6. Chapter 6

Mary was up waiting for them when the trio walked into the bunker. Well, Dean and Cas walked. Jack was still being carried, a motionless form bundled in trenchcoat in Cas's arms. She stood up, her expression torn between fury and concern.

"What happened? Why are you wet?"

"We went swimming." Dean answered shortly. "Where's Sam?"

Only then did Mary's eyes rest on Jack and she took a hurried step forward. "He's in the kitchen. Whatever you four are doing, please try not to get hurt." She held out her arms and Cas carefully, reluctantly passed Jack over. While Mary had to adjust her stance to carry him, she seemed to have it under control. "Well." She added ruefully, "more hurt than currently."

She didn't ask to be involved. Maybe she was taking a miniature break. Maybe she was just preoccupied and sleep deprived. Either why, she carried Jack off to bed without another word, leaving Dean and Cas to stand for a moment and drip on the carpet.

Dean took a shaky breath and wrapped Cas's jacket closer around himself. "Alright, let's go talk to Sam."

For some reason, Sam didn't seem surprised to see them walk in, Dean soaking wet and wearing Cas's jacket, Cas looking distinctly uncomfortable without it and kicking off his wet shoes. If anything, the younger Winchester just looked a little more tired. He was seated at the bench with his laptop, thousands of sheets of paper, and a dozen open notebooks filled with spidery handwriting scattered across the table. Clearly, he'd been working hard.

Dean tried for a smile. "Let's trade stories. You first."

"Please get changed before you catch hypothermia."

"Sam, it's midnight. Why are you still doing research?" Cas interrupted, right as Dean opened his mouth for a retort.

Sam grimaced and beckoned for them to sit. They did.

"So, I've pulled up a full list of everyone who died on the bridge, or came near close to it." Sam separated a couple sheets of paper from his disorganised piles and slid them to Dean, who in turn passed half of them to Cas.

The faces of Jacob Pangborn and Lin Harbour stared up at him, both of them smiling with childish hope. Old photos, of course. Others peered out of the paper, so many others. Terry Orland, Chad Warren, Bailey Riley... And all of them... "All the victims are male. And–"

"And they all have black hair, yep." Sam confirmed. "That's our link. We can probably figure out a lot from that."

Cas was the only one who remained silent, just for a moment. "Jack broke the pattern. Not black haired. Technically, not human."

"He's not the only one who broke the pattern." Dean passed over a picture of Peter Horace, a redhead boy with gap teeth and a freckle under one eye. "So really, there goes that lead. Who here's still alive? We can go talk to them in the morning."

"Maybe talk to Jack first." Mary, at the door, interrupted. "He's awake. Asked to see Cas specifically."

All three stood up, though it was evident that Jack's whereabouts had completely slipped Sam's mind. Dean put that down to stress.

"Jack? Where is he?" Sam inquired circled around the table to get to the door.

"In his room. Just woke up." Mary stepped back a little to let them pass, but planted a hand on Dean's chest. "You, get changed first. Then all of you, to bed. We're all still recovering. Get some rest."

These were terms everyone could agree with. Dean quickened his pace a little, breaking off from Sam and Cas to hurry to his room and throw a fresh pair of pants and a shirt on. He hadn't even realised he'd been cold and uncomfortable until he peeled off his soaked shirt to towel himself off and replace it with a new one. No need to bother with a jacket– the heaters were on and likely, he'd be in bed soon anyway.

Sam and Cas were sitting on either side of Jack's bed when Dean arrived. Jack himself was kneeling on the bed, fire in his eyes as Mary held his wrists. Clearly, he'd done something stupid; or tried to. Dean quietly closed the door behind him and Jack's head snapped around, eyes blazing gold.

"Where is she? Where is she?" He struggled against Mary's grip without putting too much effort into it, likely to avoid hurting her.

"Jack, we told you," Cas interjected in a low, calming tone, "there was no girl. Just you."

He looked up at Dean pleadingly, and Dean shuffled over to sit on the edge of the bed. "Yeah, sorry kid. Don't have a clue what you're talking about."

Hysterical, Cas had said. Dean figured he must've been unconscious for that brief period of time. However, Jack didn't seem to be fully recovered. He trembled, a slight shake that set his eyes burning again. "There was a girl. She was there, I saw her! I'm not crazy!"

Sam was already on his phone moving to one corner of the room in silence. Dean edged carefully closer to Cas, practically leaning on him as he reached over to gently take one of Jack's hands off Mary.

There were marks around his wrists, and for a moment Dean panicked. But no, they were just bruises, rings of bruises like a bracelet. Dean turned Jack wrist over curiously. What could they be? Maybe it was frostbite. That was very possible. 

"Hurts." Jack informed Dean, pulling his hand away. Dean sat back slightly and apologised, before looking at Sam.

As if aware that he was being watched, Sam looked up and simply shook his head. He'd found nothing. No answers. And Jack, curling up with his face buried in his knees, didn't seem like he was going to say much more.

Quietly so as not to disturb him, Dean, Sam, Cas, and Mary left the room and flicked the lights off, leaving him to sleep.


	7. Chapter 7

Despite misgivings from everyone, including the rebels who weren't even involved in the case, Jack came along to visit Peter Horace once Sam, Dean, and Cas had managed to track him down. It wasn't difficult by any means, however they drew out the research to give Jack more time to rest up. There would be no discouraging him. The best they could do was try and make the day easier.

Horace was a psychologist. That was good. The group dressed casual, memorised their files and pages of research, and headed off directly to Horace's house. It was a beautiful house, shockingly ordinary. The kind Dean might've liked, if he hadn't grown up a hunter.

Cas knocked a few times, and a woman opened the door. She was small and rounded, her features slotting together like puzzle pieces to turn into a smile. "Oh, hello! Wasn't expecting visitors. My name is Eleanor Horace. Can I help you?"

Dean took a step forward, noting quietly as Cas and Sam stepped closer to Jack, as if to reassure him. "I'm so sorry to bother you like this, Mrs. Horace. We wouldn't have come if it wasn't an emergency. Is your husband home?"

It took less than a second for Eleanor to put together the pieces. Her eyes flickered over Dean's shoulder, focusing on Jack who gave a weak smile in return. She nodded slowly, pity in her expression as she ducked back inside and called out for Peter.

While they waited, Dean went over the plan in his head. It was pretty simple, really. Try and get information out of Peter Horace. If that failed, check his office at the psychology clinic. Easy. Simple.

Horace came to the door warily. He looked different from his picture– older, with thick framed glasses. His warm gaze flicked from Dean, to Sam, to Cas, to Jack, and back to Dean. "Good morning gentlemen. You needed to see me?"

"Good morning, Mr. Horace." Dean stuck out his hand and Horace shook it. "I'm Dean, these are my brothers Sam, Cas, and Jack. We.... We know we should've made an appointment, but this is an emergency."

Cas didn't give Horace a chance to say anything, instead gently propelling Jack to the doorstep. "Our youngest... brother, he recently had an accident on the bridge. The one in Madison Park. I trust you know what bridge–"

"We were doing some reading beforehand." Sam interjected quickly. "For a history project that Jack has. Thought we'd research and visit it, and your name came up–"

Horace darted forward quickly, cutting Sam off mid sentence. He grabbed Jack's wrists and pulled up his sleeves, exposing the rings of fading bruises. Jack snarled quietly and looked away, snatching his arms from Horace's grip. Cas put an arm over him protectively. Dean cleared his throat.

"Yes, we, uh, we had questions about that too." No point in lying. There was a sad recognition in Horace's eyes.

"Don't blame yourself." Horace said quietly, ignoring Dean. His attention was focused completely on Jack. "You couldn't have saved her. I couldn't."

Horace invited them in and sat them down on the couch while he and Eleanor prepared coffee and biscuits. It was a bit of a running pattern. Food seemed to calm people down, make it easier to discuss their traumas. Dean gave a quick smile and sipped from the mug that Eleanor placed on the table in front of him.

Horace sat on the armchair opposite the couch and laced his fingers. "You seem to be the one in charge here, Mr...?"

"Mercury." 

"Mercury." Horace repeated slowly. "Are you the oldest?"

Dean flicked a glance at Cas, who was sitting impassively with his hands folded on his lap. "Yeah. I've been looking after this lot since our dad died."

Horace nodded and Dean winced. Where was he going with this? Off topic, that's where. Headed into a minefield of self doubt and emotion that he didn't want to unpack, ever. He cast around wildly for something to get back on track with, looking to Sam for help, but Horace moved on by himself. Evidently, he could tell that discussing a lack of father figure wasn't what they were here for.

"Must've scared you quite badly when your little brother jumped, Mr. Mercury." Horace said. "You probably felt like you'd failed to step up to your father's role, like you failed your brothers."

Oh. Nope, Horace wasn't getting the message. Dean cringed back and elbowed Sam lightly, aware of Horace filing away the movement for future psychoanalysing. 

"Mr. Horace, we're not here for a psychology session. We just want to talk about what Jack says he saw in the river. Would you know anything about that?" Sam paused, as though considering whether or not he sounded too forward. "We're just trying to understand."

"Right, yes, the river." Horace leant forward slightly. "Well, Jack, what did you see?"

"I..." Jack glanced up at Dean, then at Sam and Cas, checking to see how much he was allowed to reveal. When he received no negative response, he continued. "I saw a girl. She was struggling to swim. I heard her calling for help."

Horace was sketching on a notepad, which Dean could hardly believe. Here was Jack, explaining what he'd seen in halting details, and Horace was drawing. Then, the psychologist flipped his paper around to display a drawing of a girl with her arms up, long hair tangled in her fingers and a dress billowing over her legs. He tipped his head inquiringly, and Jack's eyes lit up.

"That's her."

Ghost. Had to be a ghost, of some kind. Dean put his hand on the couch cushions and was hardly surprised when Cas covered it briefly with his own, a minor tap for attention. Likely, he'd come to the same conclusion. It was painfully obvious that Sam had, and was itching to get away and move on. But Jack was enthralled.

Horace turned the notepad back around with a quiet, bitter laugh. "She hasn't changed at all, then. I haven't visited that place since then, even though it's harmless."

"Harmless?" Sam spoke up, colour rising to his cheeks. "My brothers almost died there, and we still don't know why."

Horace starred at him, then looked to Dean and Cas as if trying to guess which one of them had jumped in after Jack. "No, no, there was no chance of them dying from anything except the cold. You see, the Madison girl drowns her victims. I've read about them as they come up over the years. Mostly put down to suicide, am I right? But no, Jack was in no danger at all." He gently patted Jack's shoulder, as if to reassure him. "You see, if she'd intended for us to die, we would be dead. She let us go deliberately."


	8. Chapter 8

"None! There was no girl that drowned in that river." Sam closed his book and slid it across the table.

Cas looked up with a doubting frown. "Must've been one."

"Well, yeah, a few. None of them in dresses, though. Most of them run of the mill suicide, as far as I can tell, and out of the age range for the... victims." Sam leaned back and closed his eyes massaging his temples with his thumb and forefinger. "Redhead, right Jack?"

"Yeah."

"No redhead girls in dresses! Ridiculous!"

Dean was just staring at the bookshelves, frowning. Something was bugging him. A different something to the nightmares. He scratched the back of his head idly. "Did anything seem off about that Horace guy to any of you?"

"He managed to make you fall apart." Cas offered.

"I'm pretty sure he knits." Sam suggested.

"He kept patting me." Jack deadpanned.

Dean waved all of that off. It had struck him, quite abruptly, what he was trying to point out. "He wasn't shocked about the girl in the river still being there. It's been, what, fifteen, twenty years since then and he wasn't surprised that she was still there."

There was quiet for a solid moment as the group went over the conversation of the morning. Then Cas shrugged. "You're right."

"So, what, he knows something?" Sam ventured thoughtfully. "Maybe he killed the Madison girl."

"The Madison girl tried to kill him, though. And I don't think he was the first victim." Jack seemed to have recovered fine. He was leaning against a bookshelf with the laptop, typing as he spoke.

Sam winced slightly and seemed to mentally cross something off a list. "Right. I knew that. Maybe he's a hunter?"

"If he's a hunter, he would've found the girl a long time ago." Cas pointed out in exasperation.

"Not if she traumatised him. Or threatened him. Or maybe he just didn't want that life." Dean threw his hands up in a shrug that almost toppled the book cases. "I don't know, and I don't much care. What do you say we go back and talk to him a little more?"

"The only reason we even left is because his wife kicked us out. Dean, you were outside already." Sam picked up another book and weighed it in his hands. "Jack was stealing things again, y'know, for research purposes–

"I found her!" Jack exclaimed suddenly. He almost dropped the laptop, startling a young rebel woman browsing the books. Flushing red, Jack calmed down quickly and righted the laptop to show off what he'd found. "I found her, the Madison girl."

He had, sort of. It was a blog for people theorising about the ghost dubbed 'The River Spectre', started by a boy who'd had her call out to him, and instead of jumping to her rescue like the others, had run in the opposite direction. Smart kid. No compassion, but smart. Dean reached over Jack's shoulder to scroll through the posts, flicking over firsthand accounts, eye witnesses, and siblings of the deceased recounting tales. There were a lot of people without compassion, it seemed.

Jack started slightly as Cas leaned over his other shoulder. "Say something."

"What do you want me to say?"

"Just ask for information. Literally any. See if anyone will give interviews." Sam suggested wildly. Clearly, he didn't have much of a plan there. Jack blinked at him dubiously, but typed up a post anyway, asking for someone to summarise the story of the River Spectre.

Within the hour, someone responded and the group once again crowded around the screen.

"Locations. So she's not always drowning, that's good." Cas mused. "She goes places."

"And so should we." Sam scanned the little map that someone had posted, with red dots marking the girl's popular haunts. "She doesn't seem to take victims anywhere but the bridge. I mean, she's just kind of been spotted all along here. Who's coming?"

"I'll go." Jack said immediately. Dean put a hand on his shoulder. 

"No. She almost killed you last time. Me, too. I'll stay here, do some more research." Sure, Dean didn't see the girl first time around, but he wasn't exactly leaping at the chance to have another look around the river. If Sam wanted to do so, he could go ahead. Dean planned to stay out of it.

Cas glanced sideways at Dean. "Horace said it was harmless. How about Jack and Sam go, Dean and I stay here and keep looking for information?"

Plans were made quickly, deciding that there was no time to waste. Within moments, Jack and Sam had left to go and check out the other areas where the Madison girl had been seen, leaving Dean and Cas alone to try and find out more.

Dean had barely opened a book when Charlie burst into the room, sliding over the table and waving a tablet in her hand. Despite himself, Dean smiled. Good old Charlie cheerfulness. He missed that– It was getting harder to remember that this Charlie was just an echo of the sister he never wanted but missed. At this thought, his smile flickered a little.

"I've got it! I recovered the data." She gently but triumphantly dropped the tablet on the table to show off the recovered data. "Far as I can tell, the owner used this text conversation as a dairy or something."

Dean scanned it, chewing his lip. He scrolled up, reading the last message from Jacob. "'At the Park, girl drowning. Send an ambulance.' So it wasn't suicide. Surprise, surprise."

Cas leaned over Dean's shoulder, putting a hand on his back to steady himself as he flicked back down. "He was researching. Dylan was... telling his dead brother... about the Madison girl."

"Well, why not." It was very helpful though. Dylan had certainly done his research and relayed it all back into somewhere where he knew the information could be saved, untouched. Dean whistled softly under his breath and kept scrolling. "Locations, just like the blog, reports on the victims..."

Cas jabbed a finger at the screen. "Horace?"

Yes, it was. Horace, younger than his victim photo, but still him. Maybe seven, eight years old. His hair was dyed black. Dean paused, and examined the photo. Dyed black hair. Maybe it had stayed black for a while, or he'd died it again as a teenager. Every other victim had black hair. And Jack had been wearing a black beanie.

Pattern resumed. Mistaken identity? Ghost girl was looking for someone, someone specific. Probably when Jack's beanie had come off, the girl had let him go and left before Dean could see her. After all, neither Dean nor Jack were the boy she was calling for.

"Anita Horace." Charlie said out loud.

Dean and Cas snapped their heads around to her. "What?"

Charlie had someone's phone out. She showed them a quick photo of a pretty redhead, laughing with a dark haired boy. "Anita Horace. That kid's big sister."

"Peter knew more than he let out." Cas reminded Dean quietly. "Maybe..."

"Anita Horace." Dean murmured softly. He reached out for Charlie's phone and scanned through the articles, the profiles, the pictures. "Said to have run away with boyfriend Thomas Wetherby... According to best friend Dustin Hart."

But they hadn't run away. They'd drowned, both of them. A quick google search described Dustin's end, how he'd died under mysterious circumstances in the woods. Answers never found. Dean frowned, struggling to put everything into place. The bruises on the wrists.... Where Anita's cold hands had found purchase, probably. 

There were too many 'maybe's in this case.

"I think Horace killed Hart." Cas stated without warning. Dean stared at him, brow furrowed, and Cas carried on. "Dustin lied about what happened to Anita and Thomas. Maybe he killed them. Maybe Peter wanted revenge for his sister."

Charlie stood abruptly, hands up in a placating gesture. "This is too much. I'm going out for donuts. Good luck."

After she left Cas leaned on Dean, slinging an arm over his shoulders almost carelessly as he stared at the multiple devices. "Did we solve it? Case over?"

"I... guess so." They had everything. Names, deceit, murder, motivation. All they needed to do now was salt and burn the bodies. Hopefully Sam and Jack would stumble onto them, somehow.

Dean's phone rang suddenly, startling both himself and Cas. Quickly, Dean brushed Cas's arm after his shoulder and flipped the phone to his ear. "Hello?"

"What did he take?"

Dean paused. "Sorry, who's this?"

"Peter Horace. Your little brother, did he take a box? Small wooden box? You need to get it to me, now."

"What?" This was a ridiculous conversation.

"Get the box, bring it back to me. You don't understand, you're all in danger. Get it! Now!"

The phone cut out abruptly and Dean dropped it. The lights flickered and a chill raced up Dean's spine.

The bunker wasn't safe anymore.


	9. Chapter 9

Something hit Dean hard in the chest and sent him flying across the room, crumpling against a wall. For a brief second Dean saw a face, the furious, twisted face of Dustin Hart advancing on Cas, before the entire world went black.

"He left you behind!" 

The voice wasn't Cas's. Couldn't be Dustin Hart's either. The voice was familiar, female and lilting... Rowena?

Yes, there she was. At the door to the room, shaking Cas a little. Dean tried to stand up, tried to call out to them, but found he couldn't. His mouth wasn't his own. His hands and ankles were duct taped to the chair he was sitting in. Squinting, Dean flexed his fingers experimentally.

Where was Dustin? Had they dealt with him? Again, Dean tried to speak.

"He said yes to your stupid archangel brother, remember? He left you! The plan failed and the apocalypse is–" Rowena continued her rant. Cas just let it happen.

Archangel brother? Apocalypse? Dean fought against the tide of nausea and confusion that threatened to sweep him back into unconsciousness. Was... Was she talking about Sam? Sam and Lucifer? Dean could see it minds' eye, Sam walking into that building with his chin up and a key to the gates of hell in his hand, a plan in his head. A plan that had failed.

But that was years ago, why were they talking about it now? There was nothing Dean wanted more at that moment than to hug Cas, to reassure him, but the tide had come in and the world spun, abruptly depositing him back against the skirting board in the bunker's library. Dean groaned quietly. His head was pounding and his knee was throbbing. Had he been... thrown against the wall?

Senses returned abruptly and Dean struggled into a sitting position, watching Dustin and Cas battle it out with glazed eyes. Dustin was talking. Taunting. Rowena's words coming from the mouth of a ghost.

Cas slashed his angel blade straight through Dustin and Dustin, unbothered, simply laughed and put his hands around Cas's throat. "I loved her, you know." He whispered. "Anita. She was mine. Thomas stole her from me. She left me. But you can understand that, can't you?"

Cas choked out something that sounded like a curse and grabbed a candlestick off the table, swinging it at Dustin's head. Hissing, Dustin vanished in a puff of smoke but reappeared on the other side of the rooms.

"He abandoned you! Said yes, didn't even take you to where the fight was. If you'd been there you could've saved him! And look where we are instead." Dustin teased. His words made no sense to Dean, who was bracing himself against the wall to stand up. Dustin's eyes flicked to him and Dean gasped, unable to move. Pinned to the wall. Helpless.

Dustin walked closer, smiling at Cas. "I wonder. If I were to throw this one into the river, would he call for you? Anita did. For Thomas, I mean. Neither of them were good swimmers. But hey, I'm not a bad guy. I let the Horace kid live. Could've killed him to keep his mouth shut, but he was smart. Couple years of therapy and he was right as rain."

Jesus Christ, this one was a bit sporadic with his thoughts. Scatterbrained, chatty, and an all-round psycho. "Not surprised... she hated you." Dean choked out. Dustin scowled and threw him again, sending him into the bookshelves so hard that when Dean dropped to the ground, blood was dripping down his chin.

In the few seconds Dean was out of action, Cas had run in again, screaming bloody murder. Dean didn't think he'd ever seen him so fired up and despite himself, his mind started whirring. Cas was getting heated up, agitated. Was that a good thing or a bad thing? Dean pushed himself up on his elbows and started crawling as quickly as he could without jarring his knee. With luck he could slip by Cas and Dustin unnoticed.

The plan left a bad taste in his mouth. It felt dishonest, crawling away from the fight like a coward. But there was a deeper meaning here, something he didn't understand. What he did understand, however, was that Jack had stolen a box. Likely, that box contained Dustin's remains, or something he was attached to. Clever of Horace, to keep his enemies close and away from the public.

"How's it feel, Cas?" Dustin was still going. He threw a punch, sending Cas sprawling. "Did you tell him the truth before he went? Does he know?"

"Shut up!" Insane. Was that really Cas, pulling himself up and spitting blood, hurling abuse? Dean paused for a moment, staring. Cas was acting so unlike himself it was almost surreal.

Dustin laughed and dodged the candlestick s Cas lashed out again. "He doesn't! Oh, you never told him. Probably just as well, or he'd be even more broken than he already was when Michael–"

This time the candlestick made contact and Dustin's form collapsed, though his laughter echoed around the bunker. Dean hissed quietly and resumed crawling. He had to get to the box. Probably in Jack's room, maybe tangled in his suit jacket or hidden in a drawer. All Dean had to do was get to it, salt it, and burn it. Hopefully that would send Dustin to hell, or kill him for good.

"Where the hell's Crowley when you need him?" Dean muttered to himself, pausing for breath. Burn the box, call Sam. Easy. Simple.

A boot landed on the space between his shoulder blades, pressing Dean to the ground roughly. Dean gasped and turned his head, staring at Dustin as the ghost smiled. There was not one trace of humanity left in that smile.

"Why don't you just tell him, Cas?" Dustin called over his shoulder. Then he lowered his head to address Dean. "Poor angel. Pining for you, all these years. And you didn't even realise it, did you? The pair of you, honestly. It's like some cheesy romance movie in my opinion. The guardian angel, constantly watching your back. And you– Dean, you're so broken, I don't even know where to begin. Is it love or dependence you feel for our friend Cassie over there? I can't tell, honestly. Pathetic."

"You talk way too much. Where's your off switch?" Dean snarled. Dustin's insufferable grin just widened, the expression of someone long past crazy. Dean struggled to stand.

Something silver and sharp exploded from Dustin's chest and he vanished into smoke with a shriek of rage. Not one to be careful with anything, Charlie swung the wrought-iron fence post wildly, shouting curses and insults before pausing for breath and giving a small salute to Dean.

"Go, he won't stay gone for long. I'll take care of him and Cas. Get the box!"


	10. Chapter 10

Charlie and Cas were certainly keeping Dustin occupied, shouting and throwing things and creating general chaos. Chaos was good. It meant Dean could slip away unnoticed, commando crawling until he was out of sight. Then he forced himself to his feet and limped as quickly as he could to Jack's room, trying hard to keep his breathing quiet and even.

The box was in Jack's sock drawer, which to Dean seemed utterly ridiculous. He bit his lip to keep from laughing and carefully limped out of the room with the box in his arms.

There were rebels in the kitchen, crouched behind the counter and armed to the teeth. One stood and pointed a gun at Dean as he entered, but he motioned for her to stay quiet. Seemingly reluctant, she lowered herself back down.

Salt. Salt was in the cupboard. Dean tiptoed over and started rummaging, shifting bottles and cans aside. It had grown deathly silent outside, which meant... Dean didn't even want to know. His fingers tapped the canister and he pushed it up into his sleeve at the exact moment that something hard hit his face. Dean stumbled and dropped to the ground as Hart advanced.

The rebel with the gun popped up and started firing, shouting insults and moving towards the door with her friends behind her. Whether she was reacting on instinct or had never encountered a ghost before, Dean didn't know. But it was enough.

Hart aimed another kick at Dean's ribs for good measure before turning on his heel and stalking towards the rebels, lips pulled back from his teeth in an animalistic snarl. Dean rolled over so Hart couldn't , wincing in pain, and started pouring salt over the box until the canister was empty. Then he reached up to the stove and grabbed the gas lighter. "Hey, Dustin!"

Hart whipped around, allowing the rebels a chance to run, just as Dean touched the flame to the salted box. His eyes widened and he flew forward, pure fury and terror packed into the form of a young murderer. "No!"

The box dissolved into ash before Hart reached Dean, and Dean turned away quickly to protect himself against the dying flames and last screams. 

For a moment he just stayed there, leaning against the wall with an arm over his face, assessing the silence, taking his injuries into account. Then he fished his phone from his pocket and dialled.

"Hi Horace, this is Dean Mercury. I set your box on fire. Learn how to cover up a murder next time."

Dean hung up and blocked the number before Horace had a chance to respond. Then he groaned quietly and hobbled in a circle, walking off his injuries before heading back to the library.

"Cas? Charlie?"

"Here." Cas stood up from underneath a pile of books and shelves, looking disgruntled and battered but otherwise uninjured. He had Charlie in his arms. Dean was at Cas's side in an instant, focusing on Charlie, searching for a pulse when her breathing was clearly visible. Anything to avoid looking Cas in the eye.

"She's alright. Dustin threw her into the shelves." As if speaking the name had suddenly reminded Cas of the situation, he stiffened and peered over Dean's shoulder. "Did you deal with him?"

Unable to keep himself away any longer, Dean reached out to pat Cas on the back. Just like he'd done a million times before, but this time a little more... tentative. "Yeah. Salted and burned. There were some rebels in the kitchen, they helped."

"Charlie told them to stay out of sight. I should probably get her to bed, at least." Cas mused. He hefted Charlie over his shoulder gently and left quietly, leaving Dean standing among the scattered books and torn down shelves. Dean raked a hand through his hair in frustration. He'd been so sure. Maybe he'd misunderstood the conversation. Maybe Cas didn't... Maybe...

Dean whipped out his phone and called Sam. "Hey, Sammy."

"Dean, hey. We dealt with the Madison girl. Told her Thomas was waiting for her and she left. What're you up to?"

Dean tried hard not to feel bitter. "Well, her murderer was in the kitchen and I fried him. Tell Jack to stop stealing things from other peoples' houses."

The other end of the phone was silent. Dean perched on the table and covered the phone with his hand, giving Cas a brief rundown of Sam and Jack's situation as the angel entered. Neither looked at the other. There were no words for what they were feeling, nothing that could be said after Hart's explosive revelations. 

Finally Sam, oblivious to the tension, responded. "I'll talk to him. We'll be back soon."

He hung up. Dean put his phone in his pocket and massaged his knee carefully, still not looking up. Even when Cas put a hand on his shoulder, he kept his head down in silence.

"Dean." Cas said finally, after what seemed like hours of silence. "I'm not sure how much you heard of what Hart said."

"I heard enough." Dean dragged his hand down his face and stood up, turning to face Cas. "Or I thought I did. I don't know, Cas. I have no idea what he was talking about."

Cas turned slightly. Started picking up books and shelving them with his back to Dean. He looked tense, and after a moment, glanced over his shoulder. Once again Dean found himself lost in those eyes, as blue as the sky and deeper than the ocean. Beautiful, calming eyes. "You left me behind. I don't expect you to understand, Dean."

He tried to leave, but Dean darted forward and grabbed his hand, surprising himself almost as much as he surprised Cas. "Hey."

Cas's gaze flickered to Dean's, full of an emotion Dean couldn't guess.

"I'm still here, Cas. I don't know what you're talking about but I'm still here. And I'm not going anywhere, I promise." Dean tightened his grip on Cas's hand, determined that Cas should receive the message. For a moment Cas just looked at him. His lips parted slightly, as if he were about to speak or lean into Dean or both.

Then the door burst open and Jack rushed in, taking in the damage to the bunker with wide eyes. "I'm sorry!" He cried. "I'm so sorry! I took it because it looked weird and I completely forgot to bring it up!"

Sam came in quickly after, along with a groggy Charlie, and a small group of rebels, and Mary who claimed that her door had been locked from the outside. Immediately, they set to work cleaning up, after Mary had satisfied her need to know that everyone was alive.

In the cacophony of chatter and movement, nobody noticed Dean and Cas still holding hands like their lives depended on it. They didn't notice when Cas squeezed Dean's fingers in silent understanding. And if they noticed Dean and Cas slip out of the bunker to talk under the evening sky, they didn't comment on it.


	11. My Kids Have Paws

There was a dog staring at Dean. Dean stared back at the dog.

The dog flicked its gaze to Dean's burger. Dean sighed and tore a chunk off. It was a pretty bedraggled dog anyway. Probably a stray. If only there was time to try and catch it and take it to a shelter or something. 

But no. There was a demon in the shed that they had to deal with.

Dean tore off another piece of burger and gave it to the dog, who wagged its tail. "Go home, buddy."

The dog trotted off and Dean crumpled up the wrapper, squinting into the sunlight. He didn't want to go back inside. It was nice out here, in the fresh air at the edge of the forest. If a car came by, it would've seen Dean sitting on a tree stump by himself. But no cars came. The winding road was empty.

Cas drifted to Dean's side and instantly held his hand. At this point, it didn't even come as a shock anymore. One week into... whatever this was, and the two always found themselves handing hands as though they were magnets. Sam and Jack either hadn't realised, or hadn't bothered to say anything. Both were pretty likely.

"Demon's still asking for you." Cas murmured softly. Dean leaned back slightly to glare at him from the corner of his eye.

"I don't want to talk to him. Why me? Sam's a better conversationalist."

Cas tugged lightly on Dean's hand, silent but insistent. Dean exhaled loudly and stood up, brushing down his jeans with his free hand. May as well just get it over with. The sooner the demon was sent back to hell, the better.

Sam and Jack were standing on either side of the doorway when Dean and Cas wandered in, shoulders back and eyes narrow. The demon just grinned upon seeing them, tilting his head so his black eyes caught the sunlight that filtered in through the cracks in the walls. Despite being duct taped to a chair inside a devils' trap, he looked perfectly calm. In fact, he looked almost cheerful. It was so damn unnerving.

"Dean!" The demon said in a sing-song voice. "There you are!"

"Yeah. Here I am. What do you want?" Dean looked to Sam, squinting. "Explain to me why we can't just get rid of him?"

Sam shrugged helplessly. "He said he has some information for you, specifically. Wouldn't tell us. Jack thinks it's about your nightmares."

The nightmares. They'd calmed down a little, since Dean and Cas had become... Well, Dean wasn't really sure what Cas was to him. Certainly not just his best friend anymore. The fact that his mere presence seemed to distract Dean enough for the nightmares to fade was only an added benefit. For a second his fingers twitched, overcome with the urge to hold Cas's hand.

With difficulty, he brushed the temptation aside and turned to the demon. "Well? What of it?"

The demon just giggled and spit blood at Jack, who stepped back sharply. Clearly, he'd lost his mind.

"We're not going to get anything out of him." Cas stepped forward, one hand raised, but Dean quickly nudged him backwards. The demon, psychotic as he was, seemed to be trying to speak.

"What is reality, Dean?" The demon asked, leaning forward as much as he could. His black eyes glittered. "How can you tell the difference between dreams and nightmares? What's real and what's not? Tell me Dean, how can you tell? Want me to tell you? You can never be happy in reality, Dean! That's the difference. Your dreams are good. Your reality is a nightmare!"

"Okay, that's enough." Sam quickly exorcised the demon, as fast as possible, before ripping the duct tape off the man's wrists and ankles. "He'll probably live, if we get him to a hospital."

Dean just threw his hands in the air and walked out, leaving the others to scramble for a phone and bandages, not wanting to supernaturally mess with this man's life any more than necessary. Modern, human medicine could take care of things now.

Why did they all have it out for Dean? It was hardly fair. This demon, yesterday's vampire, the river ghosts last week ago... They all seemed to be making a point to pick on Dean.

Frankly, he was getting a little sick of it.

"Dean! Hey!" Sam this time, jogging to Dean's side so they could walk through the woods. "What was that about? Did any of that make sense to you?"

"No." Dean raked a hand through his hair and glanced back towards the little shed with a sigh. None of it had made sense. He didn't want it to make sense either. Something just felt off about the whole thing. 

Sam bit his lip and put a hand on Dean's shoulder. "We should go. Cas is calling an ambulance and we don't want to be here when they arrive."

No, of course they didn't. They were probably legally dead, or wanted criminals. Dean could barely keep up anymore. He shrugged and started drifting back towards the car, lost in thought, leaving Sam behind.

What was a dream? What was reality? Why had the demon even brought it up? The difference between... between... Something was broken. That much, Dean already knew. But he couldn't put his finger on what. Whatever it was, it left a sick feeling in his stomach, like he'd swallowed a bullet. It wasn't very nice.

By the time he got back to the car, he felt dizzy and disoriented. The world swooped under his feet and he lurched furled, the heels of his hands striking the bonnet of the car. Dean took in a shaky breath, squeezing his eyes closed and hunching his shoulders. Every muscle in his body burned. Every nerve screamed, on edge. Something was wrong. Something was very, very wrong.

"Dean, you alright?" Sam stepped out of the trees, concerned. Dean blinked up at him before standing up, working the kinks out of his shoulders with a frown.

"Fine. Cas and Jack with you?" Dean craned his neck, trying to look past Sam, who was tugging on the car door with mild irritation.

"They wanted to stay back, make sure the ambulance found the guy alright. They'll catch up. Now open the doors."

Dean did so, and slid into the driver's seat. The familiar warmth of the car instantly made him feel better. After the demon's weird, nonsense tirade, a little comfort was welcome. With a sigh, Dean flexed his fingers over the steering wheel. Sitting here, listening to Sam humming and tapping on the dashboard, it was difficult to care about what the demon had even said. In fact, it was impossible to even remember.

Dean smiled, and started driving home in silence.


	12. Chapter 12

There was traffic. A lot of traffic. Dean's hand hovered over the horn, tempted to let the world know his annoyance. Sam, asleep against the window, made him hesitate. No need to wake him.

Since it was clear that they weren't going to be moving any time soon, Dean rummaged through the glove box for a fake ID and stepped out of the car, weaving through the lanes to try and find the source of the holdup. Not that he necessarily needed to know, but he was interested. Besides, maybe he could help clear up the traffic and go home.

There was a heavy set car parked across one lane, blocking it off entirely. It was crumpled, pressed against a small truck that took up a second lane. Police officers were milling around, directing the flow of traffic through the bottleneck that was the final lane. Dean quickly adopted the expression of a tired, curious professional before stepping to the nearest officer and flashing his badge. "What's going on here?"

The officer was young. Probably a junior. He looked relieved to see Dean. "Bad accident. They can't find one of the drivers, the other one's there." He pointed to a middle aged man sitting on the back of the crumpled car with a police jacket on. "My chief's over there, if you want to talk to her."

Dean tipped an imaginary hat to the junior officer and set off towards where he'd pointed out the chief, walking slowly around the cars to survey the damage. It was a surprise the driver hadn't been injured beyond a cut to the chin. 

The police chief was talking on the phone, describing the scene in a calm, rational tone. She did not, however, look calm and rational. The chief was pacing, raking her hand through her ink-black hair, occasionally kicking a rock as hard as she could towards the treelike. Dean leaned against the patrol car and stuffed his hands in his pockets, watching her.

"No, I'm telling you what he said. Quoting exactly. He said a pack of wild dogs dragged her from the car... I know that's ridiculous, but that's what he saw... No, there were no other witnesses! We're on a highway!" Frustration was bleeding into her voice and she rolled her shoulders back, breathing deeply, before catching sight of Dean. Her slanted eyes narrowed and she held up one finger, indicating for him to wait as she finished her call.

The second she was done she whirled and jabbed Dean in the chest with one finger. "You! Are you authorised to be here?"

Dean took a step back. This woman was more intense than he'd expected. Clearing his throat, he held up his badge. "Agent Bonham. Just trying to get home, came to see what was happening."

The woman gave a slow nod and grabbed Dean's hand to shake it. "Chief Lang. Sorry for the holdup, we're just trying to get all... this," she gestured to the accident, "cleared up."

"I see. Anything I can do to help?" Even as he said it, Dean could tell that there really wasn't much he could do. But anything would be better than just sitting in the car watching the sun go down.

Lang gestured vaguely towards the tree line. "Apparently, we're looking for a pack of dogs. Not coyotes, dogs. Maybe with a teenager, or the remains of one? Alpha dog was a springer spaniel." It was clear that she didn't quite believe what she was saying, but Dean just shrugged. He could work with that.

Dean had been hunting through the trees for a solid five minutes before his phone rang. Startled, he fumbled it before answering. "Hello?"

"Dean? Where are you?" Something crashed in the background and Dean winced. The phone crackled.

After a moment of silence Dean coughed into the phone. "Cas? You there?"

"Yes. Jack tripped on the stairs. Where are you? I can't reach Sam."

"Traffic jam. We'll be home soon, don't worry, I–" Something glinted in the bushes. Dean paused, and crouched down slowly. "I'll call you back." He muttered into the phone. Before Cas could protest, he hung up and stowed the phone in his pocket, not daring to take his eyes off the bushes.

It was a dog. A young husky, with too-big paws and wide blue eyes that gleamed in the dappled light. Dean took a step forward, his hand outstretched, and the dog flinched.

"Hey. Hey. It's okay. I'm here to help you." Dean said softly. The husky whined and took a step back, before bolting into the shadows. Disappointed, Dean straightened up and hiked back to the road, ignoring his phone buzzing insistently in his pocket.

Lang was chatting to some other police officers when Dean emerged, picking leaves off his jacket. Her eyes brightened. "Hey! Any luck?"

"Saw a dog. Didn't catch it." Dean informed her. "I'd better get back to the car, I left my little brother sleeping in there."

Lang whistled under her breath and raised her eyebrows. "You irresponsible miscreant. Thanks for the help, anyway."

Dean smiled and turned his back, hopping over cars and ducking around annoyed drivers emerging into the evening light to get back to the Impala. Through the windshield he could see Sam, curled up with his head burrowed under his elbows, pressed against the window. He was shivering.

"That's not healthy." Dean muttered to himself. He climbed back into the car and hit Sam lightly on the shoulder to wake him.

Sam woke up and lurched forward with a guttural scream of terror, wide eyed, tears racing down his face like a river from a burst dam. The screaming came to an abrupt end when the seatbelt sliced into his neck and he fell back against the seat, panting. Dean, previously frozen, moved forward quickly and tried to pull Sam over to him as if they were little kids again. "Hey, hey, I'm here. Sammy, I'm here. Breathe."

Nightmares. For a moment, with Sam slowly regaining his senses against him, guilt crushed down against Dean. His nightmares weren't even that bad. Not compared to Sam's, who still dreamed of rabid vampires and the devil, or Jack's, who wasn't even two years old and had been through hell and back.

What was the difference between dreams and reality? That's what the demon had asked just that morning.

Nothing. That was the answer. There was no escape from the horrors that haunted them all.


End file.
